Linger
by link no miko
Summary: Alone upon his throne of ivory, the boy puppet waits and watches. [oneshot]


**Linger**

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A drabble I thought up during a long car ride and finally jotted down. The beginnings of a look into Nataku's character. I think he's a lovely, awesome character, and I'm sad I never got to see much of him. So this is a quick take on a part of who I think he is.

Much thanks to iamzuul for your help, and for giving me the chance to meet Nataku in the first place.

As always, comments and criticisms are appreciated.

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He sees, and he hears, and he knows, and he understands. But he can't bring himself to react. Surrounded by a world that's too perfect to be truly alive, he sits alone on his throne, and he watches and he waits.

The other gods don't understand, save one. His self-inflicted wound has long since healed, nothing more than a scar hidden beneath beautiful, finely woven silk cloth. There is nothing noticeably wrong that keeps him where he sits, eyes blank and staring and dead. Only the Merciful Goddess knows that the wound holding him there is deeper than the physical one he gave himself so very long ago.

When he can bring himself up through the haze he's surrounded himself with, he finds he misses the boy he met so long ago. The child Konzen owned is the one bright spot in a memory too long and too aged for one who appears as he does. A boy-puppet upon a throne of ivory.

She talks about them all the time, the Merciful Goddess does. Leans against his prison and talks with him as though he is real and alive, and not simply a withered husk. A part of him knows she means well, while another part knows she does it simply because acknowledging him as alive pisses the other gods off. For either reason, the core that is _him_, buried deep inside, appreciates her for it.

She tells him about his friend, the boy with golden eyes and no freedom, and he sees for himself in the lotus blossoms. He's always, always been watching. And he knows the child's name, hears it every day, and while he can't remember where he first learned it, he refuses to accept it. Because until that child comes back, until he stands here before the ivory throne and introduces himself, he will always be Konzen's nameless child.

As the War Prince, he understands the value of a name.

He will not steal that from his friend.

Sometimes the Merciful Goddess tells him about other people, too. Ones he doesn't watch within the lotus blossoms. She tells him of his successor, another heretic and pawn. Tells him of the turmoil in the Heavens and how it's all due to the newest War Prince.

If he could bring himself to feel, he knows he'd be jealous.

She tells him of his father sometimes, as well, and he's sure she does so only to keep him from completely withering away within his own mind. The hatred he feels for that man is the only thing strong enough to ground him to the world, to keep his spirit tied to his body. To keep him alive until the day he can finally defeat the corrupt god. Five hundred years ago he couldn't and it cost him dearly.

Next time, he will not lose.

And so he remains as he is, waiting and watching. But it has been a long time, and it's hard. Because even though he is a War Prince, even though he has the power to fell the strongest of demons…he is still a child. And like every child who is lost, he wants nothing more than to be found. But he's been trapped within his soul so long that he can't remember what the outside was like. Watching isn't the same as living, knowing isn't the same as being there.

He's a broken puppet, and that's all the other gods can see.

They don't see the little boy who skinned his knees when he tripped, or who played pranks just because he could. They don't see the child he always _wanted_ to be but never _could_ be. Because puppets aren't allowed the chance for happiness, the chance to grow and be their own person; they won't ever see the little child who hides away under the bed, hoping someone will come and find him to show that they care.

So he sits, and he watches, and he waits. Hidden in plain sight, he awaits the time when someone realizes he's missing and comes for him. Waits for the day when his friend stands before him, stupid smile and all, and introduces himself.

He's waited five hundred years.

He's tired of waiting.


End file.
